


Learning Curve

by whoa_omo



Category: The West Wing
Genre: BDSM, Desperation, F/M, Masturbation, Omorashi, Spanking, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28217892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoa_omo/pseuds/whoa_omo
Summary: He’s learned so much in the White House, but there’s one thing he still can’t seem to learn.Or: Josh has a piss kink. Donna’s there for it.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Learning Curve

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piss kink account. Not into it? Don’t read.
> 
> I take requests but don’t guarantee I’ll write them; I’m pretty busy on main. 
> 
> Note on warnings: mentions of bereavement (Joanie)

He can’t seem to learn. It doesn’t matter how many late night drives they go on, how many congressional strategies they devise at sixty miles an hour, how many bills they push through the Senate at two in the morning, Josh never seems to figure out how to take care of himself before they’re out of the District and far away from indoor plumbing. 

“Travers,” she blurts loudly, hitting the brake and the radio controls at the same time. In the sudden silence, she hears his almost pained gasp clearly, Virginia streetlights highlighting the hand darting to his crotch. 

“What?” Josh asks after a moment too long, and a small part of Donna’s mind tries to catalog his reaction even as she explains her outburst. 

“187 votes before this, right? If we let Travers off the hook for that—“

“It’ll give him cover with his moderates—“

“Won’t look like an appeasing gesture—“

“He can support this the next day with a clear conscience—“

“And we have our win.”

“Can we lose him on 187 though?”

Donna is suddenly aware that Josh’s hand is still firmly on his crotch, wonders if it’s already covering a wet patch. “Lose ... Oh. Yeah, our margin is fine, but we won’t get it unanimous even with him, so we may as well let him vote against.”

“One isn’t enough.” Josh’s hand slides slowly down his thigh, a tiny dark spot glinting on his pants as he shifts his legs in the passenger seat. 

“If we let Simmons do the same for 192, though....” She raises her eyebrows as a slow smile spreads across his face. 

“192,” he repeats softly. “That’s our key. Perfect. Together, they’ll deliver that whole bloc—“

“And we lose one vote on each of two bills that can afford it to gain, what, twelve to pass this?”

“There’s our strategy,” Josh answers with a grin. “How’s our total?”

Donna laughs and turns on her left blinker, eases her foot off the brake. “Virginia is up eight over Maryland, and I’m not sure if DC is winning or losing but either way it’s a huge margin.”

Josh grunts softly when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “We, uh, we can’t count office strategies for DC,” he replies, voice only a little tighter than usual. His knees wave side to side for a moment before stilling. “So Virginia—“

“Is for Congress, not love,” Donna tells him with a snort. “Well, for us, at least, though I imagine you love these strategy drives at least as much as I do.”

“Lovers, not love,” he corrects, shifting again, and she manages to catch the tiny wince crossing his face as he moves. 

“I wouldn’t recommend taking a lover from Congress,” she answers, aware even as she says it that it doesn’t make much sense. It doesn’t seem to matter; Josh snorts and then winces again, grabbing himself. 

“Yeah, definitely not,” he agrees, scooting his hips forward - or pushing more firmly into his hand? “Ah, God. Donna....”

She makes a split second decision then, one she’s considered on every single one of their late night drives, and talks over his much-delayed request for a bathroom break. “Since we’re still all the way out here, want to start thinking on the energy thing?”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, and she risks a glance even as she turns away from the small town they were approaching. Josh is still holding himself, chewing on his lip as he looks out the window, more worry than thought scrawled across his face. The lights of the gas station dim in the rear view as Donna accelerates more quickly than necessary, and another quiet gasp accompanies his shifting this time. “Good idea,” he says eventually, hand moving jerkily from his lap to rest on the center console in a strained parody of ease. “What have you heard from communications on it?”

The wet spot is bigger. She might have noticed it now even if she didn’t know to look for it, and its presence is distracting as hell. “Nothing yet. You?”

Josh swears under his breath as the car jolts over a small hole. “Nothing either,” he answers, voice as tight as the hand back on his crotch. “I can’t ... Donna....”

She’s always stopped the car at this point even when they’ve been in the middle of nowhere, whether he’s asked for the break or not, but there’s a curiosity burning in her gut tonight. “Sure you can,” she says lowly, tearing her eyes away from him even as his fingers flex in his lap. “I know you can, Josh.” Knows he can what, she isn’t sure. They really can’t do much on the energy thing without communications starting it, she knows that as well as he does, but his head tips back against the head rest, eyes squeezed shut as a nearly inaudible moan slides out of his throat. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. But I need something else to think about. Anything.”

Heat slams through her body, a sensation Donna doesn’t stop to think or care about. She can regret later, but she’s not walking this back now, not claiming she meant energy after that little noise. “Good boy,” she tells him, ignoring the drop in her voice and delighting in the shiver that runs through him. Something else to think about. “We haven’t heard from Lillienfield in a while.”

“You think he’s up to something.”

Donna casually drops her arm onto the center console as soon as Josh’s hand leaves his crotch, easily trapping his arm. Another quiet sound trips from his mouth as she replies, “When isn’t he?”

“Re-election?”

“We’ve seen the same numbers he has,” she points out, tapping the hand under her arm. Josh’s fingers flex restlessly. “He won’t be keeping his seat. Josh, relax.”

Josh laughs, strained but genuinely amused. “Relax?” he repeats, hips moving again, other hand grasping spasmodically at the car’s door. “Really?”

She opens her mouth to tell him she meant about Lillienfield, because she honestly had, but that’s not what tumbles from her lips. “Mm, relax, yes. You’re carrying so much ... tension,” she tells him quietly, and the shudder that starts in his body ends in hers. Christ, whatever’s happening is intense. “Wouldn’t it feel nice to just ... relax? Let go?”

“Donna-“ he gasps, left hand suddenly clutching at her arm in the middle of the car. “Shit....”

“To just let that tension flow out of you, flood out—“

“Beets,” he says abruptly, and she’s never heard him sound so desperate, so wrecked. She doesn’t need context to understand the word; she rarely does, with Josh. She brakes as quickly as she dares, overly aware of how much it’s jostling him when an honest-to-God whine issues from his throat. They haven’t stopped rolling when he’s scrabbling at the door handle, and she pops his seatbelt open even as he’s throwing his feet out of the car. 

He doesn’t go far. He practically collapses against the back door of the car, a second whine rising louder than the first before cutting off into a gasp as a hissing sound fills the air. Donna swallows against her own undignified noise, pretends she doesn’t notice that her hand is now in her crotch, rubbing quickly over herself as she shifts the car into park. Josh’s moan outside only spurs her on, thoughts of his own hot wet problem filling her mind as her feet press into the floor of the car, crotch presses into her hand, and his sudden low groan from inside the car startles her to completion. 

She doesn’t open her eyes, doesn’t even move her hand, until he lets out a shaky breath. “Fuck,” he says quietly, barely over a breath, and she answers with a small moan, rolling her head to face him. He’s staring, entranced, eyes dark and wide, and ... God, he’s hard, hard and pressing against a wet patch in his pants the size of her head, and now she’s staring at his erection and imagining her head there, and weren’t they working just minutes ago?

“Yeah,” she says, not really sure what she’s agreeing to, as she forces her eyes back onto his face. 

He just looks at her, and she just looks at him, and she’s about to start giggling nervously when he scrubs a hand over his face. “Home?”

Right. Home. Where they will undoubtedly both retreat again, pretending they don’t have his-and-hers kinks that they hide behind a truly absurd veneer of dedication to the job, pretending they haven’t just crossed the line as far as it can be crossed without nudity, pretending they didn’t just admit they’ve both been getting off on these drives from the start. “Sure, Josh,” she answers with sudden weariness. “Home.”

* * *

He can’t seem to learn. A bright kid by all accounts, he can’t focus his mind anymore. Can’t listen. Can’t read. Can’t write. He stares, just stares, and finally someone is saying something to him. 

“Do you think this is what your sister would want?”

He sits and he stares, but he’s reeling. Joanie can’t want anything anymore. It’s not possible. She’s dead, and he watched her die, and he felt himself die at the same time, and he’s no longer capable of wanting anything. 

“Just ... fine. Sit here and ignore me all you want, but you’re not moving from this chair until you’ve written a real essay.”

He doesn’t react as his father stalks away, doesn’t react as his mother brings him a glass of water and a freshly sharpened pencil, doesn’t react as they eat dinner and dessert around him. He doesn’t react at all until his internal clock tells him it’s time for bed, and then he stands mechanically and only gets a couple steps before he’s stopped. 

“The essay, Josh?”

He doesn’t remember to blink until his eyes burn, and that’s when he finally remembers to reply. “No, sir,” he answers cautiously.

“Sit down at the table and don’t move until it’s done and I tell you you can go.”

Josh does just as he’s ordered, noticing a twinge in his bladder on the way but ignoring it, just as he does all the other twinges until he’s just about desperate. Then, he picks up the pencil and writes what is, according to his father, “the best essay you’ve ever written.”

“Thank you.” Josh’s hand doesn’t move from his crotch.

“You may go to bed. Whatever you thought of to get yourself this disciplined and eloquent ... you’d best remember it for when you need it next.”

“Yes, sir,” Josh agrees, summoning up his strength to get from the table to the toilet without having an accident.

* * *

He can’t seem to learn, but he’s not sure what he’s trying to learn this time, just as he wasn’t sure as a kid. Why learn algebra when your sister is dead? Why learn to hold your bladder when you watched your assistant get off after she watched you piss? Why learn how to pass bills through Congress when you know what the woman you ... care about ... sounds like when she has an orgasm?

So his first reaction, his first failed attempt to learn, was to empty himself before they left. But without that sharp need in his bladder, he was unable to get any good ideas, and without that tension she could sense, she was also at a loss.

His second attempt was to go with a bladder half-full, just signaling that a restroom break would be nice. Sadly, that had the same reaction as his first attempt. 

His third attempt was to go back to the achingly full bladder and just not let it get so far he used his safeword. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t totally on board, and he had to hide an erection when he got back in the car. (He says hide. What he really means is one incredibly half-hearted attempt at hiding it followed by blushing furiously and just letting it show in his pants.)

“Okay,” Donna says about a mile away from their restroom stop. “This isn’t working for me.” She slows the car and pulls off the road beside a small field.

“What isn’t working for you?” 

“That,” she says, pointing unceremoniously at his lap. “I’m sorry to break our unspoken rule about leaving this unspoken, but I am dying over here. You have taunted me one too many times. I dont care if you want to step out and take care of it alone or stay in the car and have some partner activities, but you’ve got to stop just sitting there.”

Josh swallows hard. “Uh,” he says intelligently.

“All I’m asking is for you to admit you’re in need of some sexual attention. For now.”

He glances down at his lap and feels a blush rising on his cheeks. “You’re right.”

“God, even your blushing is hot right now. Like a little virgin who doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants.” Donna slaps a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” she says in voice full of chagrin.

Josh thinks back on the grand total of three people he’s ever been with sexually. “You don’t have to be a virgin to have no idea how to do this part,” he says softly. “Even without the ... complications ... that our lives bring.”

“Shh, no complications now. Just two people in the middle of nowhere. Yes or no, do you want me to leave the car?”

“You should.”

“I know. Yes or no, do you want me to?”

There’s a long silence. Josh opens his mouth three times but can’t speak. One more time. “No.” He swears he meant to say yes.

“Can I stay?”

No. “Yes, please do.”

“Do you want me to touch you in any way?”

No, you shouldn’t. “Fuck, yes.” He’s so hard and nobody’s touched him yet.

“How should I touch you?”

You shouldn’t. “Anywhere.”

She unbuckles her seatbelt and turns toward him. Her right hand finds his left and entwines with it, squeezing almost reassuringly; her left hand strokes his right shoulder and slides down, down, along the bottom edge of his seatbelt, stopping at the waistband only long enough to tug his shirt out and slip under it. Her hand spreads wide, then converges suddenly over his bladder.

“How sore is this right now?”

He hears an embarrassingly whine-like noise come out of his mouth. “It’s feeling it,” he answers breathlessly. 

“Mmm,” she replies, drifting away from it to unbuckle the seatbelt. “How do you feel about me touching your chest, your scars?”

“I don’t care.” He sounds perilously close to whining again. “I might cut off your hand if you stop touching me. Doesn’t matter where.”

Her hand skates up and tweaks a nipple, and his body arches against the seat as his mouth opens noiselessly. “Yeah?” She asks.

“Yeah,” he gasps. “Fuck, yeah.”

She does it again to the same reaction. “You’re beautiful like this,” she tells him quietly. “Strung out like I’m the only person who can give you a fix.”

“Don—NA!” He cries out in the middle of her name when she twists the nipple between her fingers. “God, don’t stop.”

“See, I’m at a loss,” she says conversationally, sliding her hand slowly across his chest.

“At a loss?” Josh manages.

“Mmm, yes. See, I think you can come just from having your nipples played with, but I also think you can come just from having your bladder compressed, but both of those routes keep me from touching, you know, YOU.”

Josh clasps her hand against his chest before she can touch his other nipple. “You shouldn’t be touching me. Really any part of me, but especially ME.”

She squeezes his left hand in her right. “I thought we went over this, Josh. No should. Just what you want, and what I want.”

“What I want. Or what I need?”

“Both.”

He hums and strokes the hand on his chest with the side of his thumb. “Is this our only ... encounter? Or am I planning today knowing that we’ll be doing this again?”

“We shouldn’t do it again, but we will.” The words feel like a promise, heavy in the air.

The idea shoots through Josh, sending a shiver up his spine. “Then you can tease it out of my nipples another day; I want your hand today.”

Her fingers flex under his and slide away, nails scratching a trail along the way. Her hand slides easily onto his cock and strokes him once through his pants.

“FUCK!” He arches hard into the touch.

“Yeah? She asks, sounding more unsure of herself than he’s okay with.

“Ye-AH!” It’s way too good for still having his clothing in between the touch. “Shit, Donna, you feel so good, and I’m still wearing pants.”

“Good,” she purrs, and he shudders hard.

“Oh fuck. Please,” he begs, and she makes a sound deep in her throat he recognizes from their last ... charged encounter. “Ple-AH!” Her hand rubs firmly over him one last time, and his feet dig into the floor of the car as he comes almost hard enough to black out.

* * *

He can’t seem to learn, surrounded by party boys and already fast-tracked to get into law school a semester early. He has to learn despite them, _has_ to, so he turns to an old trick and holds his bladder any time they’re likely to be in his room. He focuses on his work to the exclusion of everything else until his bladder stabs through and breaks his concentration. 

He finishes every test the same way, bouncing in his chair, in serious danger of walking away wet, but he makes the Dean’s list, so he must be doing okay. 

“How do you get those kind of grades?” His roommate is giving him an odd look, and he gazes back with the detached look he’s also perfected.

“I study.”

“Yeah, but what’s your trick? I know I see you nodding and bouncing. What’s that about?”

“Music,” he blurts. “Different song for each day of classes. Play the song when you study that day’s topic. It gets in your head,” he finishes, hoping that idea stood up for someone. There was no way he was telling anyone the real truth.

* * *

He can’t seem to learn much, but he did learn to be circumspect at work. “I need your help today, and it has to be a secret,” Josh says quietly during their morning meeting just following senior staff.

Donna smiles at him, glances at the already-closed doors, and raises her eyebrows encouragingly.

“Denner.”

“10:45,” Donna adds. 

Josh nods. “He has some dirt he’s acting like he’s wanting to throw at the press. It’s going to be a live fire meeting.”

She smiles gently. “Every five minutes?”

“Half that, and to be sure, tell me what my plan here is.”

“Full bladder, dangerously full, I’m checking in with you to give you an excuse when you need to empty.”

He nods sharply. “God, I’ve got to go already. You might have to give me a pep talk when it’s time for the meeting.”

* * *

He finally learns one thing about his kink. The first time he wanks with a full bladder is the morning of his first final of freshman year.

(The second time he wanks with a full bladder is the afternoon of his first final of freshman year.)

He’d been dreaming when the alarm goes off. He thinks back to the dream, tries to remember the woman in it. Tall. His hand slips under his boxers. Blond. His fingers curl around his erection. Laughing at something he’d said. His fist starts moving, faster and faster. Blue eyes full of caring and humor. His thumb slides over the head of his cock, and he’s gone.

And he’s gripping himself with a death grip, hurriedly yanking off his boxers under the covers before the wet spot on the fabric can get wet with anything else from his cock.

(He doesn’t make it, that morning. Urine starts spurting out when he bends down to get the boxers off his foot, and he struggles and struggles and squeezes and struggles but never regains control of the stream. On the plus side, he’s always been up early, and nobody else is dumb enough to wash their sheets the morning of the first day of exams.)

* * *

Fuck, he can’t seem to learn. He’s just baring his heart. “Is this just ... whatever, just a kink or something to you?”

“Or something,” she replied after a pause.

He drops his head and groans. “Any chance you’ll be more specific?”

There’s another brief pause. “I can’t be more specific until I have some idea of where you might stand.”

Josh frowns. “It’s or something for me, too.” Of course it is. He’d hardly risk even the hottest of kinks on someone with her job. The only reason he’ll risk it now is because it’s not just someone with her job, it’s HER. Her job is a sticking point, but all this ‘or something’ is enough to make even that not matter so much anymore. “You know what my job is and how much I love it. I wouldn’t chance any of that on just a kink.”

“So if it’s not just a kink, what else is it?”

He considers her in silence. Trust, but that’s park of the kink. Still, trust beyond the kink. The fact that they share almost everything and he really wants them to share the rest, too. The way they can have a whole conversation with facial expressions. “Everything,” he admits before realizing it was aloud. “Except it can’t be. Not yet.”

* * *

He seems to learn. He stops playing with his bladder for one semester of law school, thinking maybe it was time to grow up and stop his unnecessarily kinky study methods. He studies with potty breaks and less coffee. He doubles down hard and studies as much and as intensely as he’s capable of without burning out or hallucinating from sleep deprivation. 

Instead, he learns that he needs the kinky option to get good grades, even to get decent grades.

* * *

He can’t seem to learn, and now he’s been called to Leo’s office for an unscheduled chat right after he held through an important meeting and relied on Donna to get him out in time. Then again, is it his strategy or getting Donna involved? Or both?

“It’s about to get intense for a couple months. Whatever you’ve stopped doing, whatever trick you’ve used in the past, you’d better start using it again.”

He gapes at his boss. “You have no idea what it is, but you want me to do it again? I could be screwing the assistants, you know,” he tells Leo. 

“I trust you,” Leo says simply. 

And so, he decided to try Leo’s advice, decided to try bringing his trick back. Donna paid witness to meetings, phone calls, car trips; he paid witness to Donna and died a little bit inside every time he watched her reign herself in to leave it all business.

* * *

His father learns one day, definitely unplanned. Josh pushes too far working on job applications, didn’t expect his father to be in the bathroom, and ends up having a total accident on the hallway floor, his first unplanned since he was potty trained. 

Noah Lyman exits the bathroom expecting to find his son leaning against a wall waiting his turn. Instead, he finds Josh kneeling in a puddle looking vaguely terrified but mostly ... turned on?

“Josh?”

“Unh. God. Sorry, Dad.”

Noah studies Josh. “Son, are you sick?”

“No, sir.” Josh drops his eye contact. 

“Are you injured?”

“No, sir.” He drops his whole head with this answer. 

“Then please explain this to me, because on first glance it’s like you enjoyed ruining your mother’s favorite rug.”

“It was an accident,” Josh says in a rush. “As soon as I get a job, I’ll buy her a replacement. I just lost track of time, and I forgot to factor in the possibility of someone else being in the only bathroom.”

Noah considers his son in silence for a long moment. There some things he was clearly dodging, namely the arousal that Noah really doesn’t want to know about, but the rest.... “Very well. I’ll tell her my bowel movement delayed you too long.”

“Thanks, Dad. And I’m serious, I’ll replace her rug when I can afford it.”

“Just ... don’t take it that close in this house, please.”

* * *

He really just cannot seem to learn. 

“If we had different jobs, you’d have a different name,” he blurts before the car even moves. 

“Oh. Would you have more or fewer plastic undersheets, whatever they’re called?”

“Mattress protector?” he offers. 

Donna nods sharply and places the car in reverse. “That sounds rights. So, would you have more or fewer if I had a different name?” She shifts into drive and heads toward the exit of the parking lot. 

Josh sits in silence for long enough he’s surprised she doesn’t comment, but she’s always been good at knowing the difference between silent thought and just silence. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “For my sake, the same, but I don’t know precisely what you’d be into.”

“Me either.” Silence reigns again until Donna poses the next question, nearly out of town. “If one or both of us suddenly found themselves with a different job....”

“I have this weird fantasy,” Josh says, and Donna catches his eye before giving his crotch a significant look. “No! Well, yes, obviously, but that’s not what I meant. It’s about your last day, whenever that is, assuming it’s the same as or before my last day.”

“Do tell.”

He knows he has it built up in his head way more than will really shine through even to mind-reading Donna. “Uh, okay. It’s just ... I just want to kiss you in the White House. That’s all, really.”

She hums and turns to look at him during the next red light. “Can I ask two questions, one related and one tangentially related?”

Sometimes, he wonders if she ate a dictionary or something. Tangentially, really? “Sure, ask me.”

“What’s stopping you from kissing me in your office with the door shut?”

He snorts. “The knowledge that I’d never get any work done in there again.”

There’s a pleased smile on her lips as she asks the next question. “How many times have you wet yourself, even a little bit, in the White House?”

Josh snorts again. “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s more than the taxpayers would be comfortable with.”

“Half the taxpayers aren’t comfortable with us in dry pants, so you’d either make them think we were getting what we deserved-“

“Which I am.”

“Or you’d singlehandedly start the Kinky Civil War.”

“Sounds fun. Probably not what Leo and the President are hoping for, though.”

He’ll show her tangentially related. “I think they’re hoping for a win on the budget.”

“We need at least five more votes in....”

“In about fifteen minutes. I know I’m pushing it, but we’ve done less possible things on a full bladder.”

“Hmm. It’s not fair that you get release when we finish and I never anything. A kiss when we’ve locked up the budget?”

He’s definitely learning. Only carefully cultivated bladder control keeps her car dry, though he suspects she’d be open to a pissed-in car (or at least not angry about it). “We determine if it’s really locked up at work.”

Donna turns toward him, and a grin develops slowly on her face. 

Oh. “I hope that isn’t your way of quitting, because frankly, I’d prefer the coffee.”

“You’ll get no coffee, no kiss, and no quitting from me. I’d rather work my way up through the ranks and give you coffee on the day Leo gives me your job. But don’t worry! You can have my job, and I’ll learn how to use an intercom for you.”

“Ha ha. So you have friends in Tillerson’s office, right?”

“You must be pretty full to let that go so soon. But yes, I know a couple people. You want the tidbits I’ve gleaned?”

* * *

“Joshua Lyman.”

Josh stands, immediate but measured, and nods once.

“Come,” the older man says, gesturing to a large office and preceding him inside. “Get the door.”

He pulls the door shut behind him (quickly but gently) and takes the seat gestured to. As the older man shuffles some papers, Josh glances around. Big, open room; glass windows floor to ceiling; grey couch; golf club strategically placed in the most visible corner - it’s nothing like what he wants. 

“Mr. Lyman.”

“Mr. Anderson,” he returns, not offering his hand. One good thing about growing up with his father being who he is, he already knows how to handle every single partner in the firm. Anderson is one who controls the room and looks down on any perceived attempt to control him instead. Anderson takes the lead, and he didn’t offer his hand.

“I must warn you, being the son of a partner is not going to help you one bit with me.”

Josh smiles, a small, practiced thing. “Yes, sir. Of course. I would prefer to be judged as my own man, and I’m grateful you feel the same way.” He wants to shift, get his belt buckle out of his full bladder, but his father had drilled into his head that Anderson mistrusts people who move too much. (Anderson is generally accepted in the firm as the weird partner, but anyone he hires moves up the ladder more quickly than anyone else, so he’s the best interviewer possible.)

“Why?”

He catches himself before the instinctual head tilt. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite understand your question.”

“Why are you grateful?”

“Because I know everyone already trusts you to judge me rather than my father in this interview. Because I’ll get an accurate read on my abilities from you. Because nobody would doubt my skills if you hired me.”

Anderson nods once and studies Josh in silence for a long moment. “You don’t want to make a career here. This firm is not a stepping stone.”

“With respect, it can be.”

“No.”

Josh nods, squeezes his thigh together as discretely as possible, then tries again. “Mr. Anderson, I can guarantee that I would never move from this firm to another. Any secrets would stay locked away. If I leave the firm, it’s a career change.”

“A career change you’ve been planning since you were a little boy. Which makes this a stepping stone.”

Okay, time for the dirt. “You didn’t start at this firm, sir. Did you believe in stepping stones when you were fresh out of law school?”

Anderson freezes momentarily, but it’s long enough for Josh to notice. “The past is irrelevant, as it cannot be changed.”

“This meeting will be past as soon as its over. It will still hold great relevancy for the rest of my life. I believe you see the parallels.”

Anderson contemplated him in silence for a full minute, and Josh fights to remain still and silent as well. “Fine. How long do you see yourself working here?”

And now, honesty is his only choice. “Between one and five years.” Fewer if the interview goes much longer; Anderson’s not likely to hire him if he wets himself.

“You’ll sign a two year contract.”

Better than nothing. “Yes, sir."

“I believe you can show yourself out,” Anderson says dismissively.

“Yes, sir.” He stands and has to pause for a moment to rein in his bladder.

“The restroom is the second door on your left.”

He flushes and resists the urge to squirm. “Yes, sir."

* * *

He never seems to learn to keep his life in separate pockets around Donna. Well, he’s literally in separate pockets tonight; his left hand is holding himself as everyone watches Donna tease him to a desperate frenzy, but his right hand is holding something totally different. Something so different that touching it is enough to give him unusual powers of holding. 

“Come on, Dingo, let your Roo have it!” someone calls from the assembled onlookers, and (as usual) it takes him a minute to remember that those are their names here, in the supportive but still largely anonymous kink club they found quite by accident one evening drive. 

“Come on, Dingo,” Donna repeats, then softer, “Give it up, Josh.”

He whines, an honest to god whine, and flushes with embarrassment. 

“Hands out of your pockets,” she orders, and he complies with only a little hesitance. “Too slow, Dingo. Turn around.”

He knows what’s coming next. She’s done it before when it took him too long to follow an order, and he has no doubt she’ll continue to do it the rest of their lives if he can keep her around that long. Still, he hesitates. 

“Now.”

And he’s earned himself some extra punishment, he knows, but ... “Yellow,” he blurts suddenly, surprising even himself. 

Her hand settles lightly on his face. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, refusal to talk more than denial. “I can’t ... please ... let someone else....”

“What can’t you do? Let someone else do what?”

“Don’t make me turn my back,” he gasps out, feeling a couple tears threaten. “Let someone else punish me, that’s fine, just don’t make me turn my back on you tonight.”

Her thumb rubs gently across his cheek, and a tear slides out of his eye to land on her. “Okay,” she agrees simply. “But hands out of your pockets. Cowboy? You want in?” she calls louder, not looking away from Josh. 

“You want me to thrash your boy?” the small man answers, rising from his seat. “You know I love punishing Dingo.”

“Only 10,” she clarifies, staying in front of Josh as she maneuvers him over a nearby bench. “Just for not taking his hands away when he was told to.”

Cowboy walks behind Josh, and he knows the other man is picking out a tool for his punishment, but his attention is all on Donna. His hands are clasped behind his back. He’s overly aware of the little box in his left pants pocket.

“If you wet yourself during his spanking, your punishment triples,” Donna warns him before guiding him onto the bench, face down. She crouches in front of him and smiles. “Good?”

“Good.”

Heavy steps come up behind him. “Dingo, it’s Cowboy,” the man warns softly before setting a hand on Josh’s lower back. “Count for me.”

Ten lashes later, Josh is rising, only then he doesn’t rise. It’s too late. He hopes this is far enough after the last lash that he won’t have further punishment, but there’s nothing he can do about it. His urine is flooding out of him, and he makes a quick grab for the box in his pocket. Still wetting, he drops to his knees in front of Donna, then readjusts so he’s only on one knee.

“Roo, please tell me you’ll marry me,” he says, popping the ring box open.

Donna laughs and kneels with him, in his puddle. “Of course I will, Dingo. Of course I will. But we’ve got to come up with a story we can tell our friends, because this is not what they’ll want to hear.”

* * *

She has a lot to learn from him. Don’t get him wrong; he thinks hiring herself and inserting herself into his office was a bold, beautiful, brilliant move, but she’s still young and completely inexperienced.

“How do I know who’s going to be a big donor and who isn’t?”

Josh sighs. The problem is that he doesn’t know how to explain it. After a while, you just _know_. “Name recognition. How they speak - word choice, dialect, all that. What questions they ask. Look, ask Margaret about this. She’s better to teach you that. I honestly don’t have time.”

“Okay.” Donna nods, and Josh shifts in his chair. This meeting is not nearly as stressful as he’d thought, and he kind of regrets his full bladder. “As soon as she’s available tomorrow. She and Leo left together with a huge stack of folders, so I doubt she has any time tonight.”

“This is important, though,” he insists, holding eye contact for a long, long moment. “You have to know this before you can do anything more than send calls in to me. I don’t have time to deal with everyone. You have to get this off my plate as soon as you can.”

“Got it,” she replies with a confident smile. “No problem. What’s next on your list of skills?”

He takes a moment to stretch, relishing the pop of vertebrae in his neck. “Mmm. Next. Food. I eat in my office more than anywhere else; we all do. I like my hamburgers—“

“Cooked until the poor cow dies again,” Donna interrupts with a small smile playing on her lips. “‘Charred until it’s a hockey puck,’ you said earlier. That’s not something I’m likely to forget.”

Josh laughs and immediately finds himself hiding a grimace as his bladder bounces. “Great. I’ll be known forever as that guy who likened his burgers to sporting equipment.”

“Seriously though, Josh, I’m a fast learner who is now attuned to your every need, personal and professional. Order something once, and I’ll remember how you wanted it.”

He nods. “Okay. Last thing on the list. I didn’t … I don’t … This is not for anyone else to know, ever, okay? Leo knows, and that’s it. Not even Margaret. Can I trust you?”

Donna’s eyes are wide as she nods. “I believe you can. I would never break your trust. But you just met me today, so I understand if you don’t tell me.”

He’s relieved — except even thinking that word makes his bladder contract painfully. He keeps in the gasp that wants to escape. “Every Thursday at 1:30, my office is closed for an hour. You can route calls to other people or take messages, though I want you to route everything around me until I know you’ve learned who can be a message.” He hesitates, unsure why he’s ready to share this intimate detail so soon. “It’s a … medical thing.” There. Split the difference.

“Anything I need to know to keep you alive and healthy?”

That. That is why he trusts her. Her first response is to help him. “It’s therapy.” 

She nods, then repeats: “Anything I need to know to keep you alive and healthy?”

He shakes his head and squeezes his legs together. Fuck, he shouldn’t have taken that soda from her when she joined him in his office.

“Will you tell me if that changes? If I can help you or need to know something?”

“Sure.” He won’t use his hands. He won’t use his hands. He can hold it.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” Donna says.

“You didn’t.”

She gives him the most doubting look he thinks he’s ever received, and he has a Jewish mother. “You’re twelve shades of red right now.”

Well, yeah, he’s fighting not to wet his pants. “Huh,” is all he says in response.

“Okay, well … I sort of walked in mid-morning today, so you’ll have to tell me what time you want me here in the future.”

One of his legs is bouncing, but a wave of need sweeps over him as soon as he stops the movement. He clenches his legs together, clenches his hands on his armrests, clenches his jaw - then studiously unclenches his jaw. “Uh, I get in at 6. Most assistants don’t come in until 7 or 8. If you’ve ever here later than 8, you better have a good excuse.” Fuck, he has to go. “Any other questions?”

“I get the feeling you’d rather leave.”

“I’m a little pressed for time,” he responds. Time to control his bladder, that is. Fuck, he’s made two major (rookie) mistakes in this meeting - having a full bladder at all (she’s a wannabe assistant, not a senator) and taking that soda.

Donna nods. “Sure. I think everything else I can learn as I go, or ask the other assistants, or even ask you one small question at a time if I need to.”

Something stops him and he tilts his head as he studies her face, trying to figure out what the problem is. A wave of desperation washes over him, but he controls it by clenching his thighs, and it finally hits him. “Donna. I … Uh. Here’s the thing. I want you to learn from other people when you can, and I want you to figure it out on your own, but it’s more important to … My office isn’t the same as Sam’s or Toby’s or especially CJ’s or Leo’s. Learn how the phone works from someone else, learn who to pass and who to put through from them, but sometimes I’m going to need you to stall someone without sounding like you’re stalling them. You’re smart. I can tell that much already. You’re going to need to understand everything that I’m doing when I’m doing it so you can speak comfortably to the highest donors about minutiae. That kind of thing you have to learn from me. I want you to learn it from me. Don’t feel restricted to one small question at a time. Only when I’m in a hurry. Otherwise, ask me, and we’ll sit down and talk about it.” Another wave hits. Another clenching of his thighs. Another dry escape, but barely. He knows he won’t make it to his hotel room like this. He may not even make it to the bathroom down the hall. He’s seriously fucked up this time.

Donna nods again. “That makes sense. I’ll study it all and make sure I can do you justice.”

He smiles even through yet another wave. Fuck. He’s leaked. “I’m sure you will.”

“Is there anything you could get me started on tonight? Any files I could start reading over?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’s leaked again, significantly more. He didn’t even need the full bladder, and now it’s coming back to bite him in the ass. “Not tonight, alright? I’ll think about it and get you something tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” she says, leaning forward a bit. “I … Are you okay?”

He flushes from embarrassment at his sound being caught by her. “Yeah,” he says in what was supposed to be a reassuring voice but seems to come out very quavery.

“Do you keep a spare suit in the office?”

Josh finds his head cocking in bemusement quite without his permission. “That was kind of out of left field.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

She nods sharply. “And a bag for what needs to be dry cleaned?”

“I do. Wh—“

“Then I’ll leave you to it and plan to stop by a dry cleaner on my lunch tomorrow.”

He wants to protest, wants to make it back to his hotel room and — well, it’s too late now. He’s started pissing, albeit in fits and starts, but he can’t stop himself. “Right. Have a good night.”

As soon as she shuts the door, his body lets go, mind wondering what would have happened if he’d asked her to stay in the room. 

(He jerks off, that night, right there in his wet office chair and his wet suit, imagining a future where she takes a more active role in his kink, and it takes him almost two weeks to be able to look her eye again.)

* * *

He’s learned lot in the White House - where WW160 is, for example, but also honest to God new politicking skills (and how long it takes to get to a bathroom from any office or room in the entire West Wing). He’s learned so much, from Leo and his overkill Marines, from CJ and her absurd threats, from Toby and his writing in his head, from Donna and her trivia, from the President and HIS trivia, even from the kid with the mail cart.

He’s learned so much in the White House, but there’s one thing he still can’t seem to learn.

And he likes it that way.


End file.
